


For All the Ones We've Lost

by weathervaanes



Series: where our heads lived and were [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Diplomacy, Fake Character Death, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weathervaanes/pseuds/weathervaanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six years since the child possessing Stiles' magic came to their doorstep. Now, with a pack of omegas out for Derek's blood, they all must make sacrifices.</p>
<p>-0-</p>
<p>“Waiting means nothing to a group of omegas trying to stay alive.  We would always be running—Derek would always be running.”</p>
<p>“How else are we supposed to make them go away?” Lydia wants to know.</p>
<p>Scott looks troubled.  “It’s not like Derek can just fake his own death.”</p>
<p>Peter grins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For All the Ones We've Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to Dulcis Memoria. It will be presented in three parts, of which this is the first.  
> There are some things in here that can be kind of confusing without earlier knowledge, all of which can be found at the end note, if you care.  
> Hope you enjoy!

“Dad, Daddy—Dad. Daddy.”

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and doesn't scream because he has stared down darkness and horror and a hungry Stiles, he is the Alpha, he is thirty-six years old, he is not going to cry because he cannot fix a pipe and listen to his daughter ramble for another twenty-five minutes.  “Hey, pup, can you do Daddy a favor?”

He hears the little side shuffle of her feet and her huge sigh.  “Yes, Daddy.”

“Can you go tell Papa your big news first? Cause I gotta get this fixed so Uncle Scott can break it again.”

There is another sigh and a huff.  “Yes, Daddy.”

Derek barely even turns around, just reaches back to ruffle his daughter’s hair, hear her indignant screech about him messing up her pigtails, and then she’s off, trodding towards where Derek assumes Stiles is.  He doesn’t actually know, hasn’t seen him since breakfast, but he can hear him tinkering around the kitchen area and can smell his general presence in the house.  He isn’t worried.

 

* * *

 

 

Laura comes padding into the kitchen just as Stiles is heading towards the front door.

“Hey, sweetness,” Stiles says softly as he grabs his keys.  He has two seconds to glance at her, to touch her hair and her skin and duck to kiss the top of her head.  “I’m heading out to the store—go ask Daddy to pay attention to you, okay?  Bully him into giving you all the cookies you want.”

“But, Papa,” she protests, “I wanted—”

“I’m sorry, princess, go ask Daddy.”  And then he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Laura is a big girl, she is six and two months old and she is not going to throw a tantrum. Her daddies always make fun anyway, when she tries to throw a tantrum, which isn't very fair because Jessica's parents get very serious and sit down and have big talks. But her daddies just growl and tickle her until she stops kicking and it isn't fair because they always make her laugh. But Laura is not going to try that now because she is a big girl and if neither of her daddies will listen about the big gigantic tortoise she saw slowly making its way across the street into their land from her bedroom window well then she's going to go find him herself.

She stomps out of the house with her purple and white sneakers on her feet and hauls butt over the porch and through the first few feet of the woods in front of their house.  She knows the street is there, just a little to the right, and she’s heading in that general direction, but she isn’t totally sure because it feels like she’s been walking for a long time and it feels like it’s getting darker, but there’s a tortoise to be found, and she doesn’t notice any of the other stuff, anyway.

She trips over a branch and huffs, frowning down at the rip in her new dress, on the hem.  Grandpa can fix it for her, or maybe Auntie Melissa, and so she won’t turn back, she can’t. 

“M'gonna name him Beta,” she mumbles to herself, “so I can be Alpha like Daddy.” She trips a few more times, her stubby legs not agile enough to climb through the roots and gnarls of the forest floor without tipping her into puddles of mud and wet leaves. She's got some in her hair and there are scrapes along her arms but she will not cry. Skin heals, her papa always tells her, even if it takes humans a little while.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek is finally finished and he can't believe that common household plumbing could be so goddamn difficult to deal with but he's done and there's lemonade in the fridge because Lydia brings leftovers from her internet recipe experiments she gets into when she's stressed. It's pink and fizzy and distressingly delicious and he would really love to get some but Stiles' perfect ass is sticking straight out of the fridge, swinging idly from side to side as he searches for something.

He grins and contemplates groping him.

“Don’t think about it, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says with a sigh.  “If you grab me, I’ll hit my head on the shelf and you’ll be upset.”  He stands up and closes the fridge door, grabbing the bags he’d used at the grocery store and folding them.  “Hi.”  He leans in for a kiss, which Derek grants him.

“I didn’t even hear you step out,” Derek tells him.

“Broken pipes got you all distracted?”

Derek growls under his breath.  “Frustrated, really.”

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders and nuzzles at his jaw.  “Really? Big broody Alpha like you?”

“Pipes are dumb.”

“There's the man of complex thought and distinguished expression I love.”

“Shut up,” Derek mutters before kissing him and pushing him back against the fridge.

“Why don’t you go ahead and make me?” Stiles says back, pulling him closer.

 

* * *

 

 

Laura finds the tortoise nearly in the same place it had been a number of hours ago.  It’s on her side of the street, if farther down, farther away from the house, and she’s delighted to scramble close to it and coo at it.

“Beta,” she says, rolling the word around on her tongue.  “I’m the Alpha.”  She growls as best she can, pulling her lips away from her teeth.

The tortoise seems unimpressed by her and only munches peacefully on some plants that sit beside it. It shuffles away from the street and continues to eat.

“You're boring,” she sighs.

“He's old,” a voice says from behind her. She jumps and crouches to protect her beta tortoise. There's a man standing by the trees and she glares at him. No strangers come to the house, they aren't allowed. She meets strangers at the station and at daycare, in the market and the library, but not near the house. She does her best to growl at the stranger.  “Go away.”

He smirks at her.  It’s not a friendly kind of smirk, like the ones her dads make at each other, or the ones Uncle Isaac teaches her—it’s ugly and she doesn’t like it.  She stands, and the tortoise continues on its way, behind her, uncaring.

“I said go away,” she says, her voice getting smaller.

“That’s not very polite,” the man tells her.

“You're rude ’cause you won't go away,” she says and she's a little bit scared but she can't let him know.  “This is my house and you have to go away.”

“You know it's funny that today of all days I find a little Laura Hale all alone in the woods,” the man says, but he says it quiet like he isn't talking to her.

“I’m a Stilinski,” she says, sticking her nose up in the air.  “Daddy says I’m a Stilinski.”

And the man grins. “Oh, really?”

 

* * *

 

 

Derek is in the middle of thoroughly disheveling Stiles up against the fridge when he lifts his head.

“What?” Stiles sighs.  “You were molesting my neck and decided to take a breather?”

“I just—I don’t hear Laura in the house.”

Stiles shoves him away and his face is hard and slightly panicked.  “What are you talking about?”

“When you came back from the store did she go upstairs?”

“She didn't _go_ with me to the store, I sent her to you.”

“But I sent her to you first.”

Stiles and Derek stare at each other for a fraction of a moment before one of them runs up the stairs and another to the porch.

Derek is running out towards the woods, following his nose, and he stops where he smells the fresh prick of blood, sees ripped cloth.  She fell and maybe skinned her knee, but she carried on, and he picks up a rhinestone from her sneaker that must have fallen off.  He puts it in his pocket.

Her scent gets him all turned around—she’s all over these woods, really, especially in this one circle and he can’t figure out where the freshest path is, where she wandered off to, where someone maybe led her to, but he would smell another person, he would smell another wolf and—

Oh.  There’s another wolf.

He runs so fast the trees around him become a blur and he spares a thought to wonder how the hell Laura could have strayed so far on her own before his own brain corrects itself—she’s not on her own. There is the distinct scent of another wolf, of someone else, but the foreign scents are muddled and he has no time for thoughts. He skids to a stop when he sees her, her pudgy arms wrapped around a tortoise the size of her torso. She clutches the thing to her chest and grins her gap-toothed smile at him.  “Daddy! This is Beta. He's mine so I can be his Alpha.”

She gives her best little growl and Derek is unspeakably relieved until the pair of bright blue eyes just a few feet behind her put him on alert.

He jumps in front of her and growls at the wolf in the trees before the girl sighs a heavy annoyed sigh.  “Oh, _that’s_ Peter Hale, Daddy.  He called me Laura Hale. But he's wrong so I told him so; my name is Laura Stilinski, right, Daddy, right?”

Derek stands up straight, blinking, and sure enough, he can smell Peter just before he steps out, the too-familiar scent making his nose crinkle.

Peter smirks.  “Don’t look so offended, Derek.  Your daughter held her own quite nicely.”

“Daddy,” Laura says again, and she sets down her tortoise so she can waddle over and tug on his jeans.  “Daddy, tell him my name.”

Derek puts a hand to her head.  “What are you doing here, Peter?”

“Thought I would drop by, share some information with you.”  He glances down at Laura and then back up at Derek.  “Let’s head back towards your house.  I imagine your wife is anxious by now.”

But almost as if Peter's jab had summoned him, the wolf falls over his feet and Stiles is crouched on his back, a knife hovering over his neck.  “Uncle Peter, how sweet of you to visit.”

“Stiles,” Peter says, with a calm, pleasant smile on his face. Derek hears a crunching step to the left and then another careful one. He watches Peter's eyes glance in that direction and the smile cement itself on his face.  “Now why don't we all just take a breather?  Thank Uncle Peter for keeping the six-year-old from crossing the road to feed the turtle, alright?

No one says anything until Laura, who’s managed to pick Beta up again, says, “Tortoise.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighs, “take Laura back to the house.”

“Not unless you’re right behind me.”

“We will be.”

Another step, and this time Stiles hears it too.  He removes himself from Peter, who Derek keeps his eyes on, and glares towards the woods.  “Who’s there?” he calls.  “Don’t tell me you brought back up, Peter—that’s just sad.”

“Calm down,” Peter huffs.  “Samuel, come meet your cousin.”

A boy steps out of the shadows, his eyes yellow and frightened but his chin held high. Derek doesn't miss the way his hands are clenched at his sides or the way that his eyes focus on his father. He looks very young even though Derek knows that he's nearly a teenager.

Both Derek and Stiles look at each other before looking back at the boy.

“I figured he could do well, travelling with me.  Bonding, that kind of thing.”

“Hm, without the use of freaky from-the-grave possession this time?” Stiles asks dryly.

“Of course.  I’ve moved on to bigger and better things.”  He gestures to Samuel and the boy moves behind him, face half peeking out at Derek.  “We came here to do you a favor.  Now, are we going to go back to the house or shall we stand here by the side of the road?”

Derek glances at Stiles and when he gets a nod, he scoops up Laura and the tortoise, grumbling to himself as he stalks back to the house.

He frowns down at the little girl and her new pet.  “You know better than leaving the house without telling us, Laura.  I'm disappointed in you.”

“I tried, Daddy,” she says with an almighty eye roll.  “I tried and tried and what if Beta crossed the road? He'd be crushed, Daddy! He's very slow. I'm his Alpha, I have to take care of him.”

“And I'm your Alpha,” Derek says without pause, but he feels a wrench of guilt.  “I'm sorry I didn't listen, but that doesn't mean you can just up and leave. You have to wait. Promise?”

“Promise,” she sighs.

Derek sets Beta in the den with a floor of newspaper and a bowl of freshly-washed lettuce, and he lets Laura stay with him as he closes the door, turning towards where his uncle and cousin are seated at the kitchen counter.

The boy looks nervous, hands twisting together, and Derek didn’t expect it out of Peter Hale’s son, never saw any shyness in his daughters, but it was a long time ago and he decides not to worry about it, leaning instead against the opposite counter and crossing his arms.

Derek shakes his head.  “You can never just knock, can you?”

“It was my intention.”

Stiles glares from the doorway.  “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Well go ahead and doubt it,” Peter snaps, but his tone settles with a nervous glance from the boy.  “I'm here to repay a debt.”

Derek clears his throat.  “Look, we haven’t had trouble around here for a while—we’re trying to keep it that way.”

“No need to thank me.”  He folds his hands together on the counter.  “There’s a pack of omegas coming in from the east.  We used to travel with them, or a similar faction at least.  There’s safety in numbers, always is, but no matter how hard they try, they’re prey to a lot of angry packs and hunters.  Weak, too—it’s hard for them to fight back without an Alpha to lead them.”

“What does this have to do with us?” Stiles wants to know.

“Well some of them went all Occupy Wall Street or watched _Les Miserables_ a couple of times too many.”

“There's no such thing as too many,” the boy says suddenly, and his voice is not as quiet as his frame would suggest. Stiles and Derek turn to him and the boy looks back down at his lap.

Peter snorts.  “Excuse me. Regardless of the worth of such art, these omegas have all sorts of hipster revolution ideas. They have large numbers, fifty last I heard, a few hot headed ones that think all it takes to be Alpha is a bit of murder and some arrogance.”

Stiles shrugs.  “It's enough for some.”

“Well they mean to murder Derek,” Peter says casually.  “There's only, what, seven of you? They figure you're a piece of cake.”

Stiles looks at Derek.  “We can hardly be the smallest pack in the nation.”

“The smallest with the least promise—they’re strong believers in the idea that you guys made up the Skinwalker thing as a matter of protection.  You haven’t done anything of note in the last few years, they figure you’re rusty, looking for an easy kill.”  He stands then, hands on the counter, and shrugs.  “Good chat.  Sun’s setting, so if Sam and I could bunk here—”

“Guest room up the stairs and to the left,” Derek says gruffly.  “You’ll have to share unless one of you wants to sleep on the couch downstairs.”

Peter turns to his son and the boy nods, quick and short. Peter turns to Derek and grins.  “We'll take it.”

They stand and the boy approaches Derek and Stiles, his eyes seemingly unable to meet theirs. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something covered in a handkerchief extending it to Derek.  “Thank you for your hospitality, Alpha Hale.”

Derek looks at the boy, Stiles looks at Peter. The older man shrugs, his hands in his pockets.  “Manners, gets them from his mother.”

Derek takes the offering, unwrapping the cloth, and finds a little wolf carved out of wood.  It’s rough, has dangerous edges that he’ll have to keep away from Laura (and Stiles for that matter, the klutz), but it’s beautiful, with little red dots painted for eyes and the shades of the wood carved down to cast shadow over parts of the body.

“It’s really cool,” Stiles says, eyes wide.  “Wow, uh, thanks, dude.”

The boy smiles and he really does look too plump cheeked and sweet for twelve.  “You're welcome. Mom is teaching me, I helped her make him.”

Derek smiles and tousles his hair and Stiles almost laughs.  It's so obvious the boy doesn't like that but won't be snappy towards an Alpha.

“C’mon,” Peter says, hand on his son’s shoulder.  “Upstairs with you.”  He points the boy towards the stairs and turns back towards Derek once he’s headed that way.  “I can’t stay and help you—you know that.”

“Your family comes first,” Derek says with a nod.  “I don’t blame you.”

“That being said, it wouldn’t hurt to see if you could call in some other reinforcements.”

Stiles frowns.  “Like Argent?”

“At the very least.”  He glances over his shoulder.  “Thanks for the roof.”

Stiles watches them climb the stairs and sighs.  “He stresses me out.”

“It's a skill he was born with.”

“The kid isn't what I expected,” Stiles adds.  “He's like…cute and nice.”

Derek crosses his arms.  “Cute and nice are not what I expected, I agree.”  Stiles continues staring up and Derek wraps an arm around his waist, curling in to whisper in his ear.  “You won't be happy until you do it.”

Stiles frowns.  “He came in peace. His kid is with him for God's sake.”

“You won't sleep a wink.”

“I don't think I will anyway, not with what he's told us.”

Derek wraps his arm tighter, pulling him in.  “It'll relax you; do it.”

“After you put her to bed,” Stiles agrees.  He turns in Derek’s arms and kisses him.  “So we have a pet now.  And here I thought we escaped the ordeal of her begging us for a puppy.  You never would’ve been able to say no.”

Derek sighs, smirks.  “I think the tortoise is literally the least of our worries.  We’ll have to hold a meeting.  Everyone—we all have kids now.  There are serious precautions to be taken.”

Stiles tenses in his arms.  “Fifty. Derek, we’re badasses but…  But fifty and angry and stupid is a lot.”

Derek kisses his forehead.  “We'll be okay.”

“Derek, can you promise me that?”

He looks away and squeezes Stiles' shoulder.  “Let's just get some rest tonight.”

“Derek—”

“I would never let anyone hurt you or Laura,” he whispers fiercely.  “You have to believe that.”  He holds onto Stiles’ arms, tight.  “Even if I have to send you away—no one is getting near you.”

“And what about you?  You think I’m just going to leave you behind?”

“I’ll be okay.”  He presses a kiss to Stiles temple.  “We can’t—we can’t worry about this tonight.  We have too many other things to obsess over.  I’ll put Laura to bed.  Go get the mountain ash.”

After Laura is in bed and Stiles has lined her windowsill and door with a thin smattering of mountain ash, he climbs into bed and stares at the ceiling.

“Stiles, come on.”

“We could die, Derek. Things have been so quiet, maybe the omegas are right. Maybe we're rusty. And it's always been true, always a possibility, we could have always died. But we have Laura now. What—what would either of us do, how would—”

“Stiles, you can't think like that.”

“I have to think like that, Derek, I'm her dad.  I'm her dad and I'm not forever. I should be but I'm not immortal and neither are you.”  He sits up, knees pulled up, elbows propped up on them, and he stares through the darkness at the door at the opposite side of the room.  “You can hear her heartbeat, right?”

Derek nods.  “Yeah.”

“Is she asleep?”

“Yes.”

“And Peter?  And Sam?”

“Peter is,” Derek says after a moment of hesitation.

Stiles sighs heavily and drops back onto the mattress.  “We have to make decisions differently now.  We have a kid.  I understand the desire to stay and fight, defend our land, but if they’re coming here for you, maybe it would be best to…not be here.”

Derek understands that, he does, and he can imagine packing up Scott’s family and Erica and Boyd, dragging Isaac away from his soon-to-be-ex girlfriend, maybe even convincing Lydia to come as a matter of safety, but he doesn’t know that it would do anything.  He doesn’t know that anything would change.

“They could chase us,” he says with a sigh.  “They're omegas, it's what they do. They move.”

Stiles closes his eyes. “We have to do something to keep her safe. All of the kids.”

“It isn't a safe life, Stiles.”

“And they didn’t ask for it.”  He moves closer to Derek, hand on his chest.  “They are our first priority, Derek.  Just like Sam is Peter’s.  We have that right.”

“What’s to stop them from following us forever?” Derek asks in a whisper.  “What do we do—we can’t live like Peter does.  We need stability.  Laura needs stability.”

“Laura needs us alive.”

Derek puts his hand over Stiles' and looks him in the eye.  “We don't have to uproot our lives, Stiles. It's me they want.”

Stiles' puts two and two together in less than a second.  “No.”

“Stiles—”

“I swore on everything I was never going to leave your side.”

“We don't swear on Laura, we never have. We have to make decisions differently now.”

“I thought you were over your masochistic phase when I got out of college,” Stiles mutters bitterly.  “There will be another way to eliminate the threat, okay?”  He rolls over, dragging Derek’s arm over his side, and they spoon together, faces against the pillows.  “I’m not letting you go.  You have to know that by now.”

“And when you admit it’s the only way?”

“I won’t.  Because it isn’t.”

Derek kisses the back of his neck and breathes him in.  “It won't be forever.”

“I'm not letting you out of my sight,” Stiles says, his hand clenching tighter around Derek's.  “Our strength is together.”

“So is theirs,” Derek insists.  “They're weak, but there are too many.”

“We can’t—Derek, we can’t just give in.  We can’t have a rational discussion with these wolves; they won’t listen.  There’s nothing—we have to,” he mutters.  “I’m sorry.  We’ll start looking for places to go tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

 

Derek wakes up to Laura sitting on his chest at five in the morning. He glances at the clock beside the bed and groans.  “What are you doing up, kid?”

She pushes her little palms on his chest and looms her face over his until their noses press.  “Is Sam my cousin?”

Derek sighs and scoops her over off of him, setting her on her side in between himself and Stiles and rolling to face her.  “Yes,” he says.

“Like Jessica?”

Lydia and Jackson’s daughter, who is the perfect combination of both of her parents both in intelligence and strength, is Laura’s age.  Scott and Allison’s children—two of them already, one two years younger than Laura and another just born—are also Laura’s cousins in a sense, if not by blood, but Derek and Stiles tell her as much.

“Yeah, sweetie,” Derek tells her, pushing his face half into his pillow.  “Is something wrong?”

“He looks sad,” she says quietly.  “I wanted milk and I'm a big girl so I went to get milk and he was sitting in the kitchen and he looked sad. I told him to go to bed and he said that he would if I did and he took me to my room and then I went to sleep.”

Derek frowns.  Over the soft snores from the man next to him, he listens through the house for heartbeats.  Peter’s is calm, steady—he’s still sleeping.  Sam’s is steady, too, but slightly faster, and Derek can hear that he’s downstairs, padding across the hardwood floor of the den, probably watching Beta.

“Why is he sad, Daddy?” Laura asks, scooting closer.

“I don't know,” he says kissing her forehead.  “Go back to sleep and I'll find out.”

She yawns and curls up to Stiles' arm.  “Can I stay here?”

He moves her hair from her cheek and smiles.  “Yeah, baby, keep Dad warm, okay?”

Laura makes a half nod before she’s nodding off again and Derek slips out of bed, grabbing a shirt before he makes his way downstairs.  Sure enough, Sam is sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, watching Beta do, well, nothing, and he looks up when Derek enters.  He scrambles to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly.  “I didn’t—I couldn’t sleep.”

“It's alright,” Derek says as he walks towards the kitchen, the light in the house slowly strengthening with each minute of sunrise.  “Do you want some breakfast?”

The boy shakes his head, his hands clasped behind his back.

Derek tilts his head.  “Are you afraid of me?”

Sam raises his gaze, chin up.  “No.” His heartbeat stutters.

“I won't hurt you,” Derek assures him, trying to look unthreatening though he isn't sure how making coffee appears threatening in the first place. “I just thought you might want to eat something.”

“I'm not afraid,” he insists though his heart gives him away again.  “I've just… I haven't ever met an Alpha before.”

Derek nods slowly.  “Okay.  Well I’m not going to hurt you.  You’re safe in my home.”

“Your mate doesn’t think so,” Sam mutters.

“The mountain ash.”  Derek pulls a mug from the cabinet.  “That was just a matter of precaution.  Your father and my mate have an unfortunate history of distrust.”

The boy nods and sits next to the animal again.

“Did it wake you up? The smell?”

Sam shakes his head.  “No, I just couldn't.  I couldn't sleep like he can.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Derek pours the coffee, glaring down at the counter, and sucks in a deep breath.  “It can be complicated, being an omega.  I—I’m sorry that you and your family have been placed in such a situation.”

“We’re doing okay.”  He perks up slightly, looking up at Derek again.  “I’m gonna have a little sister.  I mean, we think it’s a girl.”

“That’s why your mom didn’t come with you?”

Sam hesitates, but nods ultimately.

Derek leans on the counter.  “You're not as young as you seem.”

The boy blushes.  “I look like a little girl I know—”

“That's not what I meant,” Derek says shaking his head.  “You look naïve; it startled me that Peter's son could be. But you aren't, are you?”

“Not as naïve as he thinks I am.”  Sam swallows convulsively.  “He wants—he wants to provide for us.  He’s a good father.”

Derek doesn’t say anything.

“I thought, when we came here, when he told me he was going to meet with an Alpha, that he would ask you to accept us into your pack.”

Derek almost chokes.  “What?”

“It's just… I know it was hard for—I mean when I was little. And I didn't think that they'd want to do that again, with my sister.”

“Is that—?”  Derek clears his throat.  “Is that what you want? A pack?”

“I have a pack,” he says with a shrug.  “My family is my pack.  But my dad—my dad would be happier, would feel safer.  He pretends to be confident, acts like he has everything under control.  But the omegas that are coming, they scare him.”  He sucks in a breath.  “We used to travel with them.  They provided a sort of protection, I guess, but some of them were…”  He looks down at his hands.  “I got picked on by a lot of them, and my dad made us leave.”

Derek blinks.  “He was ready to stop running, your dad, when he found out you were going to be born.”

Sam sighs.  “But then he only had to run more.”

“At least if you're running you know you're still alive.”

The boy nods and trails his fingers over the shell of the tortoise.  “Sometimes I wish we could just live.”

“A lot of omegas manage it, in populated cities.  Chicago, New York, Los Angeles.  But then it’s hard to run, to be a wolf.”

“So we have to trade our natural urges for safety.”

“Not always.”  Derek sets down his mug and watches as the boy yawns hugely.  He offers Sam a hand.  “C’mon, you need sleep.”

Derek walks him up the stairs to the guest room and waits outside the door until he hears his heartbeat steady and his breath come easily.  By then, he’s too awake to crawl back into bed with Stiles, and he wanders down the stairs back to Beta.

He sighs as he stares at it.  “Like we need another thing to take care of in this house.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Stiles comes downstairs the house is full. He knows that the pack has been updated on the situation because the children are running wild, Peter is being glared at by Lydia and Scott's leg won't stop bouncing.  “Someone please tell me that coffee is happening.”

Derek brings him a cup and kisses the side of his neck.  “We were just waiting for you to discuss everything.”

“Where’s Laura?” he asks after a sip.

“With Jess in her room.”  He huffs quietly.  “With the tortoise.”

Stiles smirks.  “Sam’s still sleeping?”

Derek nods absently and Stiles slips an arm around his waist.  “C’mon.  Let’s get this over with.”

Jackson looks like he's about to pull his hair out.  “Let's just spread. Or go on vacation. Derek, there's 50 of them? I'd like to see their wandering omega asses afford a charted flight to Switzerland. Let's just go.”

Lydia takes a break from glaring at Peter.  “It pains me more than anyone to say it but Jackson is right. Fighting them will cost us the lives of our families. Why would we do something as stupid as waiting for that to happen? Let's leave and wait it out.”

“The only problem with that,” Allison says through a sigh, “is that waiting means nothing to a group of omegas trying to stay alive.  We would always be running—Derek would always be running.”

“How else are we supposed to make them go away?” Lydia wants to know.

Scott looks troubled.  “It’s not like Derek can just fake his own death.”

Peter grins and Stiles shudders.  “Oh fuck.”

Derek raises both eyebrows. “I'm listening.”

“Little Scott is still as accidently brilliant as ever,” Peter says.  “Derek can fake his own death. The pack can stay.”

“How could Derek fake his own death without there being another Alpha?” Boyd cuts in.  “It won't work.”

Isaac shakes his head.  “It could. We're weird remember?”

Erica looks up from where she's been glaring at her lap.  “Stiles!”

Stiles blinks.  “Okay, I lost the train of thought here.”

“You would be Alpha,” Derek clarifies.  “If I die before Laura is old enough.”

“Um.”

“But killing you wouldn’t give them Alpha powers—your status would be honorific,” Boyd explains.  “Just like Laura’s.”

Peter smirks.  “A human leading a pack of werewolves.  Unheard of, I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Unheard of, but not impossible,” Allison says.  “And he’s not so much of a human anymore, is he?”

Stiles grips his coffee tighter.  “What about the house?  It smells like Derek—his stuff is here.  How long ago is he supposed to have—”  He breaks off, looking down at his feet.  “Died.”

“We can make arrangements,” Peter says.  “Derek will have to stay with someone else, another pack maybe, but he’ll have to be out of here—soon, just in case they arrive and the smell is still too strong.  We’ll have a headstone and everything, pictures from a funeral.”

“Lots of preparation,” Derek mutters dryly.

“What about Laura?” Stiles asks.  “She’s only 6, how is she supposed to understand what we’re doing?”

“She’s smarter than you realize,” Lydia says haughtily.  “She’ll do what’s necessary.”

Derek leans into Stiles, nose on his cheekbone.  “I’ll pack some things and leave tonight.”

Stiles’ heart seizes in his chest.  “And this is going to work?”

Peter shrugs.  “Looks like the only thing that can.”

 

* * *

 

 

Derek looks down when he feels a tugging at his pant leg. He looks down to see Jessica looking upset.  “Alpha, that tortoise is boring.”

Derek rolls his eyes.  “Then go play with something else, Jessica. Where's Laura?”

The girl crosses her arms.  “With Sam. He's braiding her hair, but I don't want him to braid mine because it's perfect.”

Derek glances at Peter, hesitant to see his reaction, but the man is silent and completely composed, looking at Jessica like every other adult in the room.

“C’mere,” Isaac says, standing.  He scoops the girl into his arms and she beams at him.  Every child in the house loves Isaac.  “I’ll take her back upstairs—sort everything out, will you?”

Derek nods stiffly, hand reaching for Stiles’.

Isaac still trusts him with that terrifying, _absolute_ trust, trusts him to make things right and keep everyone alive himself included. Derek closes his eyes. “They'll know you're lying.”

“We can talk circles around anyone,” Lydia reminds him, “it won't be a problem.”

“And the children?”

“We can tell them what we have to,” Erica says, leaning back against Boyd and looking at her hands.  “The Sheriff and Melissa and Chris can help us out with them, and ultimately they don’t have to know everything.”

Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand.  “I’ll talk to Laura.  We’ll talk to her.  Together.  She’ll be fine.”

“It all comes down to our acting skills,” Peter adds.  “When the Alpha dies, the pack is physically and emotionally affected.  We can push the death date back maybe two months, but that’s all the wiggle room you have.”

“And what about you?” Derek asks.  “I thought you were heading back to Clara.”

“There's something about my Clara you don't know and that's that she's very particular.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning if I don't actually see this through to the end we won't exactly be on speaking terms.”

“I thought you were leaving today,”

“I was, Sam and I were going to wait this out—but you need more help in this.”

“What about Sam?  We're scrambling to get our kids to safety and you—”

“You let me worry about my son, alright? Do you know that he's the reason we're here?”  He’s glaring, and Derek exhales slowly through his nose.  He does know.  He knows that if Sam isn’t in a pack, if he doesn’t have a pack soon, he’ll likely be killed before he reaches adulthood.  Or worse.

Stiles shuffles closer to Derek, shoulder pressed against his, and Derek simply strokes his thumb over Stiles’, a silent promise to discuss it later.  “All the same, it’s dangerous.”

“It would be more dangerous without him next to me.”

Derek shakes his head.  “It's your choice.”

“No,” Peter says, voice firm and eyes looking past Derek's shoulder at the boy standing on the stairs, “it's his.”

Sam is obviously uncomfortable being the center of attention, and so Derek turns his eyes away after a quick glance and most of the pack follows the example.  Still, he trudges down the stairs and sits at his father’s feet, back against the couch.  “Isaac is with Laura and Jess.  He said—he said I should come down here.”

“Were you listening?” Lydia asks plainly.

“Only a bit.  You guys said your Alpha has to fake his own death.”

“Pack has to do crazy things sometimes, to keep safe,” Scott says.

Sam licks his lips.  “My dad doesn't mean that I came here to try to be part of your pack. I want to be with my parents and it's their choice what we do. He means I'm the one who found out about them coming for you.”

Derek sits up straight at that, eyes zeroing in on the boy.  He can feel Stiles’ tension, his fear and anger and that lingering sense of betrayal that makes no sense.  He releases Stiles’ hand and slides down to the floor, opposite Sam, and crosses his legs.  It’s similar to something he used to do with Laura when she was upset, when she wouldn’t look at him or talk to him.  He has to put himself on equal ground in order to have a legitimate conversation.

“How?” he asks calmly.

Sam looks up at Peter but the man has no comfort or encouragement to offer so the boy turns his eyes to Derek. “People think that if someone is weaker than you, if you can hurt them, then they can't hurt you. They thought that I wasn't—that I wouldn't tell. But my ears work just fine when someone is punching me.”

Derek stills and Peter's hand grasps Sam's shoulder. “We had stopped travelling with them a while back but they—we ended up crossing them again. It's hard to find forests where we won't be seen, that's how omegas end up clomping together in fake packs. Dad was with Mom and I was just running when they ganged up on me.”

He shakes his head.  “That isn't the point, though. The point is while they were beating me up they told me that people like me wouldn't get to be in the pack. That they weren't going to be stupid like you, they said your name, they said they wouldn't be as stupid as my cousin Derek taking in humans and making up stories. That only the strongest would be in the pack after they killed you, that they would kill all the weak ones as well.”

Derek can see, out of the corner of his eye, Scott grab for Allison’s hand.

“They didn’t have any final plans yet, I don’t think,” Sam continues.  “But they were teenagers—they hear things.  And so I told my dad and we knew we had to come tell you.”

“It was brave of you,” Derek tells him.  “You’ve probably saved our lives, you know.”

“Only if the plan works.”

“It will,” Peter interrupts.  “As long as we start immediately.”

 

* * *

 

 

They make plans the way any family burying their own would.  This time, though, Stiles supposes it’s slightly less morose.

“I’ve packed,” Derek whispers to him as he comes up behind him in the kitchen.

“We’ll tell Laura soon,” he mutters back.  “Lydia’s working on getting fake pictures from a funeral and Boyd and Erica are sorting out the scent.”

Derek nods.  “Are you going to be okay?”

“No,” he says quickly, “that's the plan. As soon as you leave I'm going to make myself believe you're dead. I'm not going to be even a little bit okay.”

Derek pulls him in and Stiles allows himself—one last time—to be buried in his scent, in his warmth, before he has to leave and work on getting rid of everything around him that Derek lingers upon.

“You have to promise me that we never go through something like this again,” Stiles says.  “No more funerals, no more goodbyes.  You’re not allowed to die.”

Derek kisses him and makes no promises. “I love you.”

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and pulls Derek out the door.  “It's best if you don't say goodbye to Laura.”

“But—”

“She's six,” he says, his voice snapping and upset.  “She can't act. And if you—if you died, she wouldn't understand. She'd be just as confused as she will be when you go.”  Derek stares at him for a moment and Stiles squeezes his hand.  “Derek, I’m sorry.  I—she’ll be confused and hurt for a while but not forever, and you’ll come back.”

“We don’t know that I’ll come back,” Derek says breathlessly.

“Yes, we do, that’s what all of this is for.”  Stiles puts a hand on his shoulder.  “Just—go.”

“She’ll never forgive me.”

“She will.”  He surges in for a kiss, long and slow.  “Please, Derek, just.”

Derek tightens his grip on Stiles’ arm.  “I love you.”

He knows why Stiles is reluctant to say it, knows how much it sounds like goodbye. He tilts his chin up and presses their foreheads together. “Stiles, I love you.”

Stiles digs his fingers into Derek's hair and kisses him desperately before pulling away and breathing against his lips.  “I love you, Derek.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Derek is gone, Stiles doesn’t sleep.  He says goodbye to Allison and Scott, watches them drive off, and hugs Lydia before he tugs Jackson away too, promising to see them in the morning.  Erica and Boyd linger a little longer, fussing about with things in the house, but when they’re gone, all Stiles has to do is turn around and look to see how different things are.

Pictures gone, places where Derek’s scent had been strongest already working on being wiped away, too many things out of place.  Stiles checks in on Beta to see the tortoise munching slowly on a bit of lettuce and then climbs the stairs like he’s walking to his own execution.  He peeks into Laura’s room and wishes he could find her awake, have an excuse to bring her into his bed and hold her, but she’s fast asleep, and so Stiles closes the door and sits outside of it, head in his hands.

The next morning the house is quiet. It's safer, everyone in their own homes, pretending not to know anything. The truth is they know very little at this point. They don't know when the omegas may strike, they don't know where Derek has gone, they don't know what the days to come will bring. Stiles knows one thing though, he's about to put his daughter through a lot of pain.

It’s not hard to start crying; he doesn’t even have to fake it.  He goes into Laura’s room in the morning, the sun peeking through the window shades, and she rubs at her eyes sleepily.  Derek loves it when she does that, her little fists twisting, and Stiles feels a jab of pain at his heart.

“G’morning,” she says through a yawn, little legs kicking at her blankets.  When she opens her eyes as he sits on the foot of her bed, she frowns as deeply as a child can and crawls over to him, climbing into his lap.  “Papa?”

He cradles her close and kisses her forehead and just pulls her up against his chest.

She squirms and puts her little hands on his cheeks.  “Papa, why are you crying? Are you hurt?”

He clenches his eyes shut and then takes her hands in his.  “Baby, I have to tell you something.”

Her little eyes go wide.  “Did Beta cross the road?!”

He shakes his head and rubs his thumbs on her hand.  “No, cub, it's—it's about Daddy.”

She looks confused but not scared and it hits Stiles like a wrecking ball how young she is. Suddenly he can't say what he was going to.  “Daddy is…  Daddy’s not here—anymore.”

He can see that it doesn’t really take the first time, her face twisting in confusion.  “Did he go out with Uncle Isaac again?  He promised to take me with them next time!”

Stiles can’t even laugh at that, just drags his hand down his face, still crying, and shakes his head.  “No, sweetie—he.  He’s not here,” he repeats with a gust of air.  “He’s…gone, baby.”

The way it hits her makes Stiles’ chest squeeze up tight.  Her immediate reaction is anger, beating her hands against his chest and demanding he provide Derek out of thin air, demanding that he appear and comfort her, but Stiles just holds her tightly, takes the abuse, and pushes his face into her hair.

“Where did he go? Call him, Papa, tell him to come back!”

“I can't,” he murmurs holding her close.  “I can't.”

“Why did Daddy leave? Is he angry with me?”

“No, angel, no.”  He holds her closer, pulling her more effectively onto his lap.  “He—loved you so much, he loved us all so much and he—he’s so sorry—he was so sorry that he had to go.”

“When is he coming back?” Laura demands to know.  “He needs to come back!”

Stiles doesn’t have an answer for that, doesn’t know what he can say, but Laura seems to understand by his silence that Derek may never come back.

It’s deathly quiet in the house that day.  Peter and Sam stay away from Stiles and Laura; they seem content to be silent and out of view, but all Stiles does is try not to let the fantasy get to him.  He stays as close to Laura as he possibly can, needs to be able to comfort her when she needs it, otherwise the end result will be too much to bear.

The girl clings to him, to his leg and his chest, and she’s quiet too.

She pokes at her lunch.  “Where is the pack?”

Stiles blinks up at her.  “They're at home.”

She sets her fork down.  “Maybe Daddy's with them.”

Laura continues in her efforts to discover where her father could be hiding, continues to suggest different locations he’s run off to, but Stiles can see it in the way she withers, the way she hesitates and strains and tears up—he can see that she understands, to the best of her ability, that Derek is gone.

He wishes he could call Derek, wishes they had some way to communicate, but they can’t risk anything with the omegas on the way.  They can’t risk one simple slip up, and so Stiles goes to bed that night and only manages to fall asleep because Laura tiptoes into his room and crawls up onto the mattress with him.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes with a start the next morning and it takes him a moment to figure out why. His bed is cold. Derek isn't there and it squeezes at his heart, but neither is Laura - and she'd been there when he fell asleep.

He jumps out of bed and runs to her room before bounding down the stairs. He's about to shout for her when he sees them. Sam and Laura sit on the porch steps with their elbows on their knees and their gazes on the forest. Peter sits on the porch swing watching them.

Peter looks over to him silently, nods.  Stiles pads over to the swing and sits next to him, breathing deeply to try to calm himself.

“They get along well,” Stiles says softly.

Peter chuckles.  “Necessity breeds relationships.”

“Good practice for him.  He’ll have a little sister.”

Stiles breathes in and tries to remind himself that this will all pass. Derek will come back and they will be safe. Laura will smile again. Maybe they can take up Lydia on her offer and have another kid. He breathes out.

“I wish I could trust you.”

Peter nods.  “I wish you could too.”

“It’s not simple.”

“I didn’t imagine it was.  After all, it’s only been twelve years.”

“Fourteen, if you count the shit you pulled with Lydia.”  He glares out of the corner of his eye.  “And you should.”

Peter exhales slowly and sits up straight, arms crossed over his chest, eyes caught on his son.  “I know you don’t trust me.  You have plenty of reasons not to.  But you might one day.  You might when this is over.”

“Never say never.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sam tucks the little girl's hair behind her ear and sighs.  “Do you want me to braid your hair?”

She shakes her head.

“Okay.”

He turns back to look at the trees and keeps quiet.

“I want Daddy,” she whispers.

He hears her, but he doesn’t speak, not for a long moment.  Then, he says, “I know,” softly, and folds his hands together.  “I’m sorry.”

“I miss him.”

“I know.”

She pushes her face into his arm.  “Sammy, will you stay?”

It affects him immediately, the longing in her voice, and he knows it’s not for him, that it’s misplaced affection at the loss of her father, but he still clings to it, desperately, with eager thirst, and he nods.  “Yeah, Laura, I’ll stay.”

They go back inside the house only to grab Beta and carry him outside.  They set him on the floor of the woods and sit next to him, watching as he takes slow steps every few minutes towards the forest, like he’s trying to escape.

 

* * *

 

 

The days pass in an ironic death-like silence. The pack shows up, never all together, never with the children. Laura doesn't smile, doesn't laugh or play. She spends her days shadowing Sam and tilting her head at Peter. Sometimes she climbs onto Stiles' lap and promises that she'll be the best girl in the world if Daddy will just come back. She climbs into Stiles' bed every night and curls up on his chest, her little hand clutching at his T-shirt. He thinks she's trying to make sure that he won't go away.

He's trying to mimic the artistry of braids that Sam makes with her hair one morning while she prods at her cereal.  “It's because I'm not a wolf, right, Papa? That's why Daddy left.”

His hands freeze.  “No,” he says softly, not quickly enough.  “No, God, no, Laura—he—no.  He loved you.  He loved you more than anything in the world.”

Stiles knows that she wants to ask why—if this were true, if Derek really did love her more than anything, why would he leave.  And the answer is, “He was trying to keep you safe, pup,” he says in a whisper.

It doesn’t seem to matter one way or another.  The fact of the matter, to Laura, is that her dad is gone, and even though she loves Stiles, there’s nothing that will ever replace Derek.  Although she seems to be trying pretty hard to have Sam fulfill the role.

It should be funny. Sam is a child, not even a proper teenager yet. His sandy hair and soft features are not even reminiscent of Derek.  He has his mother's eyes. He is charming and soft mannered, he is quiet most of the time, except for when the silence becomes overwhelming, then he sits on the porch and sings. Sam is nothing like Derek, but Stiles doesn't doubt there's something Laura sees. Something that she feels.

A week and then two pass and things stop feeling like pretend. It stops feeling like Derek is just about to come back or as if they need to be ready for attack. Everything is quiet and it's driving him mad.

“We can't stay for another week,” Peter tells him.  “Clara is—”

Stiles nods.  “I know. You can tell her you did what was needed. And I am, you know, I am grateful that you came. That you stayed.”

Peter gives him a short nod.  “We’ll leave tomorrow, I guess.”

“I guess,” Stiles repeats.

However on board Stiles and Peter are with this decision, their children are not.

“I don’t want to leave,” Sam spits at his father.  “They’re—they need us.  Laura—”

“It’s not your decision,” Peter responds.  “I’m your father.”

“They're our family too!”

Peter strides over and grabs his arm.  “Your mother is our family. The baby is our family. This is not your pack, Samuel.”

Before Sam even gets the chance to respond, Laura latches onto Peter’s leg, sitting on his foot.  “No!” she says defiantly.  “Sam wants to stay!  I want Sammy to stay!”

Stiles, from where he’s standing at the kitchen island, sighs heavily and leans back.  “Laura,” he says softly.  “Sam will come back soon, but he has a little sister coming—he needs to go be with his mom.”

In her short little life Laura has never thrown a tantrum but she stomps on Peter's foot and runs all over the living room, throwing lamps off tables and ripping apart her idle drawings and kicking at the sofa. Stiles grabs her and tries to settle her struggling body with a hug. She kicks and screams and cries and punches and Stiles has never been more at a loss for what to do with his own child. She's never behaved this way before.

He clings to her as she writhes and screeches, he sees Peter impatience and Sam's distress, but it doesn't matter.

Finally, it’s only Peter’s voice that will calm her.

“Okay,” he says forcefully, while she’s taking a breath between screams.  “A few more days—but that’s it.”

Laura blinks at him.  “How many?”

“Until Wednesday,” he sighs.  “We’ll leave that evening.  Until then…spend the time you need to.”

She jumps out of Stiles' arms and throws her own around Peter's legs, squishing her cheek against his knee.  Then she runs to Sam and takes his hand, pulling him down to the den where Beta lives.

Stiles closes his eyes and tries to breathe as calmly as possible.

“You're going to need to get your shit together if you're going to be Alpha,” Peter says.  “The reality is we don't know how long this is going to go on for. Even if we get them to leave now, it'll be risky for—things to go back to normal.”

“But Derek will get to come back, at least,” Stiles sighs.

“Not immediately.  It’ll be a gamble, and we’ll have trouble reaching him anyway.  It could be…a while.”  He huffs a breath and drags his hand over his face.  “We’ll leave on Wednesday, give the kids more time.”

“Thank you,” Stiles says and he means it.  “Sam has been…good.  For Laura.”

Peter smirks.  “Don’t expect a wedding.”

Stiles rolls his eyes.  “You know, I have a hard time understanding how you of all people turned out to be a decent parent.”

Peter turns to look out the window and Stiles remembers all too late that Sam isn't Peter's first child. He's about to say something in the way of an apology when Peter shrugs one arm. “If you let your kid teach you how to be a father, that's how it works best for everyone involved. My brother-in-law, he was good to his kids, but he always asked them to be like him, to be like Talia, to turn into the people that had their shit figured out. I never did figure out my shit and my kid is a better man than I'll ever be. So I let him teach me.”

Stiles doesn’t have anything to really say to that, nothing worthwhile, and so he nods and watches Laura, wonders if he’s learning from her.  He’d like to say that he is, but he thinks maybe she’s just learning from Derek.  She’s learning to be a wolf, had been learning to be the perfect beta to Derek’s Alpha, but she’s still a child.  She learns every day.

It’s nightfall when Isaac arrives, Boyd, Erica, Scott, and Jackson just behind him.

“They’ve crossed into Beacon Hills,” Scott says.  “We could feel them—smell them—as soon as they entered the territory.”

Stiles tenses.  “The kids?”

Scott takes his shoulder and squeezes.  “Lydia is taking them to your dad and Melissa.”

Stiles breathes in.  “Peter, take Sam and Laura to my dad's.”

Peter, who had appeared just behind him, nods once and heads to living room to get the kids. Stiles looks around his pack and lifts his chin.  “I know I'm not Derek, but this is the same pack with or without him. We aren't going to let them touch our family and they aren't going to take our land. We are all going to survive this, do you understand me? That's an order.”

Isaac and Boyd smile, even Jackson rolls his eyes and smirks. Scott hugs him, tight and with a pounding hand at his back and Erica leans in to kiss his forehead.  “You got it, Alpha.”

Even if they’re in town, they don’t come that night.  Stiles stays up late, waiting, just like the rest, but no one comes.  According to the wolves, no one even comes close.  He falls asleep against Erica that night, and wakes up with the sun beating in through the windows.

“It’s okay,” Isaac tells him.  “We took shifts.”

Stiles rubs a hand over his face and sits up.  “Fuck it. We are done waiting. We're not sitting here waiting for them to make the first move, hiding our kids, this bullshit is done. We're going. Now.”

They assemble without complaint, without arguing, and when they leave the house, it’s clear that the omegas know.  They’re waiting in the forest, a couple miles out, and when Stiles and the rest of the pack—sans humans—get out of the cars, they’re standing spread out, at least thirty in number, potentially fifty.

It’s clear who the leader is, a man standing at the very front.  He’s not the oldest one there, but he’s not young either, at least 50 years of age, graying at the edges, a sturdy man.  He reminds Stiles a bit of Peter.  He lifts his head, chin tilted up, as if challenging Stiles.

“Skinwalker,” he says with a smirk.  “You know, if you really expected people to believe that bullshit, you probably should’ve pinned the title on someone who looks more like a wolf.”

Stiles rolls his shoulders and tilts his head this way and that the way Derek always did before shifting. The way he always does.

“I've never put a lot of stock in that myself,” Stiles says calmly.  “I'm no legend. I’m barely thirty. What I am is incredibly annoyed and I’d really like to hear what all this trespassing is about.”

“It's simple really,” the man calls over.  “We're here for your Alpha.”

Stiles can physically feel those behind him turning, he can see it reflected, rippling several times over in the omegas spread about. He can hear the growling breathing behind him, he can feel the spark of life and fire running down his arms, seeping behind his eyes. He knows they don't change colors, but Derek always told him it was a terrifying sight.

“How dare you,” he breathes out so low and yet there is no doubt that everyone can hear.  “How fucking dare you.”

He knows how to act the part.  It isn’t hard, he’s been training with the other wolves to steady his heartbeat, and he learned a trick from Deaton involving a spell and some wolfsbane that makes his heartbeat and other things about his body hard or impossible to detect.  The only truly difficult thing about the situation is the fact that he has to believe what he’s saying—he’s going to have to tell these wolves that Derek is dead, and he’s going to have to believe it.

The omega looks over Stiles’ shoulder.  “Tell us where he is and we’ll be on our way.  You know you won’t be able to stop us.”

“I would’ve thought you omegas and your travelling clans were always absorbing new information,” Stiles spits.  “There’s nothing for you here.”

The man takes a step closer and Scott crouches in front of Stiles with Isaac on his other side, Stiles shakes with rage simply by reminding himself all the pain these people have brought them. He closes his eyes, an incredibly stupid move maybe, but right this moment he is Alpha and his pack guards him. He thinks of Derek, how he could be anywhere, how alone he is, how no one is there to chase away the nightmares, how his heart must have broken not seeing Laura that last time. Why didn't he just let him see her? Just to say goodbye? Because the truth hits him with all the strength he needs. It's been nearly three weeks and there have been no signs. There is every possibility—”Derek Hale is dead.”

It’s obvious the omega is startled, but after a brief moment of shock, he smirks.  “You think we’re just going to believe that?  We’re hardly that dim.”

“Listen to my heart,” Stiles demands.  “Ask any of us—my mate is dead.  This is my land, my pack’s land, and you are trespassing.  Leave now, and we won’t demand your life as recompense for slights.”

“Demand it? Who from? You can't stand here and pretend your Alpha is dead. Even if he were, that's the least of our concerns. You and your little band of misfit toys are taking up good sacred land. Land that a real pack should inhabit,” the man says, strolling closer.  “Tell me, Skinwalker, how did your fuck buddy die? And what do you think gives you the right to a pack—however insignificant it may be?”

Stiles wants to kill him.  More than anyone he’s ever harmed, more than any life he’s ever taken, he wants this one.  And he doesn’t even know the man’s name.

“My _mate_ ,” Stiles says through gritted teeth, “died from a rogue hunter attack.  He died saving my life—my daughter’s life.  He died saving his pack and his family, and the truth is this _is_ sacred ground.  This is sacred ground that has belonged to the Hales for hundreds of years.  And you’re not a Hale.”

“Neither are you.”

“But I am.  Just as Derek’s blood flows through his uncle”—he tilts his head slightly to the right, indicating Peter’s placement—“and his lingering power flows through his pack”—the rest of the wolves snarl—“I have him.  And threatening me, insulting me, and being a general pain in my ass isn’t going to make your situation any better.  You are the last person that could ever claim this land.”

It isn't unexpected when the man with no name, who _deserves_ no name or the right to keep breathing, launches for his neck. He's pretty sure Scott takes out most of his side but his eyes only go a snow white of death with Stiles' hand gripping at his neck and he can feel the power, not only his but Derek's and Laura's and he knows. His family is alive and he has to keep it that way. There are too many, he realizes that in seconds. They are weak and each of his takes out two or three of theirs but their numbers seem to multiply.

He doesn’t know, honestly, if the Skinwalker thing is even real.  He does know, however, that he has magic, that he has abilities, and that they’ve come in handy before.  He’s a little rusty, hasn’t used magic like this since Laura was a baby, but it’s all the same and using a dumb charm to clean dishes should be applicable to this situation too.  Mostly.

He manages to swing his arms out to create the circle, just like Deaton taught him all those years ago, and when the ring falls, it fits perfectly around his pack who have, thankfully, centered themselves as if they knew what he needed them to do.

The mountain ash falls around them so they can’t step out just like the omegas can’t step in, and every wolf is snarling, practically pawing at the ground for blood, and Stiles just stands there, surveying the damage.

There are maybe fifteen of their wolves left in fully capable form, but most of the others are dead or dying.  Peter is injured, bleeding too quickly, and Boyd is healing from a broken leg, but everyone else is fine, if slightly scraped up.

It's a tight squeeze but he wraps a snag of his shirt around Peter's wound himself before facing outward again. They're stuck, incredibly miserably stuck and fifteen wolves is more than the Argents can handle on their own. Calling them would only put them in danger and do nothing to help. If they've taken down this many then maybe they can heal enough to get the rest of them done. But even though Boyd is nearly on his feet, Peter is wavering, not looking better at all.

Salvation, Stiles has found, rarely comes at the most opportune times.  But occasionally, karma pays off.

Peter grabs for Stiles and Stiles lets him, helps support him as he insistently climbs to his feet, and doesn’t pull away when Peter grabs at him and whispers fiercely in his ear, “She’s here—she’s in the forest—she’s looking for us.  And she’s brought her family.”

Stiles grins. “One brilliant thing you've done in your stinking life, finding her.” He glances around the pack and they shift ever closer to him. Squeezing Peter's shoulder, he whispers in his ear.  “Howl for her.”

And he does.  No one else understands, no one else is fully capable, fully aware of what’s happening, but within the next minute, another 60 wolves are storming into the land, and Stiles is kicking open the mountain ash circle.  _It ends today_ , he thinks, _and it ends with our lives intact for our children._

Stiles is surprised to see Clara, not slightly pregnant but heavily so, ripping the throat straight out of the wolf he knows wounded Peter. Maybe she could smell her mate's blood on him, maybe it's some other bit of luck, but he only has to bash into one more attacker before it's done. His pack and their allies stand around him bloodied and battered but victorious. Alive.

His pack is touching him, holding him, kissing his forehead and his cheeks, pulling him back towards the house and it isn’t until later, when he’s shoved under the hot spray of a shower, that he fully comes back to himself in the realization that he did it.  That his pack did it.  That they all survived, even if some of them are slightly worse for wear, and that Derek can come home.

If only they can find out how to bring him home.

He comes downstairs, slightly less numb, and walks in on Peter and Clara and Sam on the couch, the boy in the middle, both of his parents whispering across him and to him, and Stiles feels a pang of nostalgia, of hopefulness, that that’s something he’ll have with Derek, with Laura, again.  Soon.

Laura doesn't understand the celebration or the sudden influx of wolves she does not know. She doesn't understand why everyone is smiling like everything is okay when it isn't. She looks around at the grins of the pack, at the expression of relief on Stiles' face and he can see it. See that she's not only confused but betrayed.

He scoops her up, pulls her away, and they go into the den with Beta, sit down on the floor and Stiles lets her sit there for a moment before she tries to speak.

“What happened, Papa?” she asks quietly, fingers brushing over Beta’s shell.  “Don’t you miss Daddy?”

“Of course—pumpkin, of course I miss Daddy.”  He strokes her hair.  “Laura, of course I miss him.  I miss him so much.  But we just—the pack just did something that made it easier for Daddy to be with us.”

She looks up, eyes wide.  “He’s coming back?”

He sighs through his nose.  “Not yet, sweetie.”

“Why,” Laura frowns.  “Why won't he come back?”

“Because he doesn't know we're safe yet,” he explains, “but he'll hear about it, okay? I know wherever he is he's—he's watching over us. He'll know that we did it, that he can come back to us.”

Laura stomps her feet.  “But I wanna see him.  I wanna go find him now!”

“I know, pup,” he whispers, kissing her little hands, “but we don't know where he is.”

Apparently she’s given enough tantrums for a fair while, because instead of wailing and screaming and demanding Derek appear before her, she simply crawls up into Stiles’ lap and nods against his chest.  “He’ll find us, though.  He always does—because he loves us, right, Papa?”

“Yes.  He loves us very much, and he’ll find us.  Soon.”

The conglomeration leaves that night. They share a meal and Stiles pledges his debt to them, a debt that he's sure will cost them dearly some day. Before the northern wolves go Stiles manages to pull Luc aside.  "I'm sure you've heard Derek is in fact not dead."

The man nods.  "And I was very glad to hear it, my friend."

Stiles nods.  "We thought it best if he disappeared and kept away, trouble is we've no way of reaching him now."

Luc smiles.  "If you think the word won't spread that the Skinwalker has slewn a wave of rogues with five betas and his bare hands, than you put too much stock on our other hobbies, Stiles."

There’s that, at least, to comfort him.  It won’t be very long before Derek is back, before he’s home with him and Laura, and so all they have to do is wait. 

* * *

 

Waiting is more painful than Stiles expects it to be.

It was late April when Derek left, the middle of May when the omegas came, and now—it’s been another few weeks and it’s June, but Stiles isn’t losing home.  He watches his seniors graduate, misses them all dearly and makes them promise to write and visit, and then he goes home to Laura and spends the first few weeks of summer with her.

June bleeds into July.

The worst is watching the pain change Laura. The thought of seeing her daddy soon was enough for her to grant Sam leave. Stiles offered the boy and his parents a place in his pack but it was Clara, not Peter, who refused. They had a way of life and Stiles respected that. But as time passed and Laura realized she'd let her safety blanket of a cousin go without the guarantee of Derek's return Stiles can see the changes in temperament dig their nasty claws into his baby girl.

The way she changes is subtle at first, smiling less often and enjoying things with decreasing joy.  She both clings to him too tight and avoids him like the plague like she's either afraid of him leaving too, or rejecting him because she doesn't want to be hurt.

July becomes August.  Stiles adjusts the best he can, spends a lot more time with the pack, and when August becomes September and he and Laura have to go to school, he starts to mourn.

He expected a few weeks, maybe two months at the most, but they've heard nothing from Derek. He resigns himself to the possibility that something happened, that Derek was caught unawares by another omega tribe, and that he's gone.

Unlikely, yes, but not impossible.

It's unlikely because Derek is his mate, deeper and more intimate than a husband and a lover. Part of being mates means there's a part of him that feels like a second heart, a part of him directly connected to Derek. Of course he has no clue what he's doing, maybe what he feels still strong and alive in him is his own need for Derek to come back and not a reassurance that the other man is safe.

Ultimately, it means nothing. He doesn't know, can't know, and so he mourns in silence and lets the pack take care of him as he takes care of Laura. He sleeps alone and eats with Laura, spends time with her and tries not to let her bury her feelings inside.  He encourages her to spend time with Isaac, watches them together and sees her smile and laugh but he knows a lot of it is not as genuine as it could've been if Derek were there.

September becomes October. Laura rejects the idea of dressing as a wolf for Halloween. She doesn't talk about Derek anymore, doesn't even mention him, and it's as if he never existed.

Sam writes her emails and Stiles sits Laura on his lap to help her type. She rejects his help sometimes, going at the keyboard a letter at a time. He even leaves her to her own devices while he prepares lunch sometimes, but the girl always waits for him to fix her mistakes before they send it off.

He's glad she's sitting at the table and not looking at him while he checks over her last message.

 

_you goto come back Sammi. take papa and me with you to were wolfs with no alfas are._

 

Stiles sits at the computer and leans his head into his hand.  Laura is just as upset as Stiles is, is feeling the loss just as much as he is, and it's distressing to see how much she wants to distance herself from everything that reminds her of Derek and wolves. She spends hours with Beta, but doesn't call him that anymore, spends her time trying to come up with a new name for him, and it isn't until a week later that another email comes.

It's from Clara. They've searched themselves, they've asked everyone they know. Stiles himself has received messenger after messenger, and God how he misses the days when he could stand back and let Derek receive them. Each from a pack, nearly every pack, offering their information—always nothing—and their condolences.

 

_Let your pack mourn, let your daughter mourn, let yourself. There comes a point when hope turns into a blade pointed towards your own heart. We will join you, we will grieve with you, it's time to look ahead. My son holds you as an uncle and my daughter will as well if you will let me call you brother. We'll get through this together._

_\- Clara_

 

That, at least, Stiles is sure of, his ability to survive. He'll live, as will Laura, and it will be rough for a long time, just like it was when his mom died, but this...this is different. Laura won't understand until she's older, Stiles might never know what happened, but what's important is that they move on.

They hold a funeral. It's a kind of symbolic deal, and Stiles understands the irony. Derek had left them, had run away and faked his own death so that he wouldn't die and have to leave his family alone, and yet that was what had caused it all.

He still sleeps in Derek's clothes every night. Still clings to their daughter every night and for the most part nothing changes. Except sometimes the wolves who are his family will close their eyes and hold their own children close when they hear the Skinwalker in the woods, howling his pain into the night. Howling for his mate to come back.

**Author's Note:**

> BACKGROUND INFO: Twelve years ago, Peter got a girl from a northern pack pregnant, named Clara. Her father, the Alpha of the pack, Luc Bechet, called Derek to come and advocate for Peter's life. Peter and Clara ran off together to have the child.  
> Luc's pack was the one who started the idea of the Skinwalker being Stiles, as is presented in Dulcis.


End file.
